Gemotions

The old house smelled of decay and forgotten memories. My brother, Samuel, and I had come to settle our grandmother’s affairs. He was eager to sort through the house, while I felt a profound sense of resistance, a deep longing to simply remain.

He was in the kitchen, excitedly examining old pots and pans. I wandered into the drawing-room, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams. A small, velvet box sat on the mantelpiece, almost hidden. I just stood there, staring at it, my muscles protesting the idea of reaching out.